The Rohan Pride Trilogy

Part Three: Terms

Book Two

By: WhiteLadyOfTroy

Summary:
The doom of Middle-earth is to be decided, and Gúthwyn's own fate is tangled up with it. Reunited with her people, her thoughts now turn to the children, and she would know what has befallen them—even if her life is the cost of such knowledge.

About the Trilogy:
I have decided to do what Tolkien did with his books. The Fellowship of the Ring had two books within the text, as did The Two Towers and The Return of the King. The only change I have made is the first part in my trilogy: Alone. That was divided into three books, the first book explaining how Gúthwyn got to where The Fellowship of the Ring started. Terms will be divided into two books.

About Chapter Thirteen:
As always, I'm using a crazy blend of movie and book canon, and it may at times get confusing. Please bear with me. Let me know if anything is uncanonical, implausible, etc.

Chapter Thirteen

It was one of the first mornings in a long while that Gúthwyn did not have to be shaken awake by someone.

That was because she did not sleep at all. She had tried, of course, when she returned to her tent after bidding Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli farewell, but rest simply would not take her. She was too nervous and excited about what was to come; her body alternately went through fits of shivering and pauses of an absolute calm so still that she could have successfully played dead.

So when the sun rose, managing with its brilliant red to chase away some of the shadows of the Dwimorberg, Gúthwyn arose from her pallet and went outside. Éowyn had left about an hour ago; she wondered if her sister had gotten any sleep either. She wanted to find her, but did not know where to look, and in any case there was plenty to busy herself with.

As she stepped out onto the Firienfeld, her eyes were greeted with the sight of every Rider in the camp preparing for the journey to Gondor. It would take them close to a week to arrive at the White City, which was where Théoden believed the main brunt of the assault would fall. Osgiliath, due to long warfare between the forces of the Red Eye and the Silver Tree, was in ruins, and its only value was that it was a key means of crossing the River Anduin. The Enemy would take it easily enough, as Gondor had a waning populace, and there were not enough men to defend the city from the thousands of Orcs Sauron could afford to send.

This would leave Minas Tirith, the capital of Gondor not five leagues away, vulnerable to attack. From what she had heard in brief snatches of conversation between the higher officers, Sauron purposed to utterly destroy the city so that not a child was left. The forces that he sent against it would be greater than anything Middle-earth had seen for years, easily dwarfing those at Helm's Deep.

Gúthwyn looked about her as she walked, hoping to find her uncle. She had not seen Théoden much since they arrived at Dunharrow; he did, after all, have many duties as a king. As a matter of fact, she had barely conversed with him after he had questioned her about Isengard and Mordor. It was not that she was trying to avoid him: Their paths had just not crossed that often.

"Gúthwyn!" someone exclaimed then, and she turned to see Éomer hurrying towards her. With the exception of his helmet, he had donned his full set of armor. The sunlight caught in his hair as he drew nearer, making it blaze with a golden fire and his armor shine. She smiled at the sight of him, delighted as she remembered him charging valiantly against the lines of Uruk-hai at Helm's Deep.

"Good morning," she greeted him.

"Théoden wishes to see you in his tent," Éomer replied. "I expect he has some duty for you to take over in our absence."

"Duty?" Gúthwyn echoed as her brother began leading her towards the king's tent. "What duty could I possibly fulfill?"

Éomer shrugged. "You underestimate your capabilities," he said, nodding at the guards who stood before Théoden's lodgings. "I do not doubt that you will exceed any expectations."

She smiled to hear his words. "Thank you, brother," she told him as he held the tent flap open for her.

Ducking under it, Gúthwyn emerged into what had become a makeshift throne room. It was far greater than any of the other tents, and was lined with a great number of furnishings. These included several carpets and tapestries, along with a sturdy wooden chair and a table on which numerous maps were laid. Her uncle had been sitting on the chair, but at her arrival he stood up.

"My lord," Gúthwyn murmured, sinking into a curtsy. This time, she managed to do it without wobbling.

Théoden gave a small laugh, and she looked up to see his eyes twinkling in amusement. "You do not need to address me as such here," he said. Out of the corner of her eye, Gúthwyn saw Éomer step into the room. She remained silent, waiting for her uncle to continue.

At length, the king sighed. "While we are gone," he began, glancing down at his hands briefly, "your sister is to be in charge of the people. She will sit on the throne at the Golden Hall, for Edoras may long be held against Mordor should the battle go wrong."

Gúthwyn's face paled at the thought, but she did not say anything.

"I know you have not had much education," Théoden spoke awkwardly; "something that seems most grievous to me. I have not kept my vow to Théodwyn."

"You have done your best," Gúthwyn said, and felt a pang of guilt as she remembered all the horrible things she had shouted at him upon their reunion. Haldor still whispered them to her at night, but she no longer believed them to be true.

Théoden shook his head. "Shall we come back, I will not let the matter go overlooked. Yet in the meantime, you should see that Éowyn's orders are obeyed—it has not escaped my attention that you have a way with the people."

Gúthwyn was willing to bet that Théoden was doing this so that she did not feel left out of the preparations, but she kept her thoughts to herself. "I will do my best, Uncle," she promised, dropping a brief curtsy.

He drew closer to her, and said, "Then it is farewell, my niece. For I must speak with my men, and we will not see each other for a long time—if at all."

"May the Valar be with you," Gúthwyn murmured. Théoden cupped her face in his hands and laid a fatherly kiss on her brow. She felt a horrible twist of guilt in her stomach as she thought, again, of all that she had said to him upon their reunion. "I am sorry," she whispered when he pulled away.

"For what?" he asked, his blue eyes narrowed in confusion.

"For being so rude to you when I came home," she muttered. "I… I should not—I was…"

"No," he said, holding up a hand to stop her. "I will not hear you blame yourself for the consequences of a mistake I made years ago. It is I who should be sorry; and know, Gúthwyn, that I am, more than I can ever express to you in words or actions. I pray that, one day, you will forgive an old man for his foolishness."

"I have already forgiven you," she replied, and wrapped her arms about him. Théoden stiffened in surprise for an instant, and then returned the embrace firmly. She breathed in her uncle's scent, remembering all of the times she had sat in his lap to hear tales of Rohan's glory in long ago battles. Those days were now gone, lost in her past along with her innocence, but she cherished them all the same: As reminders that she had once been carefree, that she had once had nothing more to worry about than when Théodred's next lesson would be.

When they separated, she saw tears glistening in his eyes. They were not mirrored in her own, for her heart had born the burden of farewells far worse than this, but she was worried for the king's safety. "Good luck," she bade him. "I desire to hear songs of how your sword glistened with the blood of a thousand Orcs."

He gave a grim smile. "Mayhap you will," he said, "though my time is passing. Éomer would be a far better man to pin your wishes on."

Gúthwyn looked at her brother, already afraid of him perishing on the battlefield.

"I will give you two some time alone," Théoden said, and patted her one last time on the shoulder before exiting the tent.

She watched him go, then glanced at Éomer. His face was dark as he sighed; his eyes were clouded in worry. "Will you be all right?" he asked her, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Nodding, Gúthwyn replied, "I am fine. It is I who should be concerned about you."

"Do not be," he assured her. "What comes will come, and who am I to shy away from fate?"

Gúthwyn made a small noise of amusement. "Indeed, brother, sometimes I think you rush headfirst into it."

He chuckled, though the noise was quickly stifled in the shadow of war. "I am not the only impetuous one," he retorted. Yet when he next spoke, his words were serious, and tinged with underlying sorrow. "I wish we did not have to part so soon."

She did not know what it was in what he had said, but just then the reality of what she was doing slammed into her. It seemed as if she had been playing her role of the dutiful lady so well that she had nearly forgotten what lay before her. But now it drowned her in unfathomable sorrow: No matter what happened in the battle, no matter if she and Éomer both survived, they would never see each other again. If he ever heard news of her fate, it would be that she had perished in a dark dungeon, tortured and beaten until her body could not bear the abuse.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she had barely managed to fling herself into Éomer's arms when the tears welled up in her eyes. No wetness tumbled down her cheeks, yet she felt dangerously close to losing control, as unsteady as a drop of milk before it slides off of a child's chin.

"Gúthwyn?" Éomer asked hesitantly, nevertheless holding her tightly.

I am never going to see you again and I love you and I want to stay home and I am scared! she wanted to sob, but instead buried her face in his armor. Even though it pressed painfully into her forehead, she did not let go for over a full minute. She knew that when she did, when they parted, she could never go back. She could never speak to him again. She could never return to Edoras, to her people.

As the thought crashed over her, she let out a gasp, and was unable to stop her shoulders from heaving up and down.

"Gúthwyn?" He was separating from her so that he could look into her eyes. Effortlessly, he moved her, and she did not have enough time to blink away the tears before he saw them. Hot embarrassment washed upon her, so that she could not meet his gaze.

Two fingers were laid underneath her chin, tilting her head up. "It grieves me to see your sorrow," Éomer said quietly, "but even more to see that you are ashamed of it. If I should fall, would you hide your tears?"

His questioning was more than she could stand. "I-I need to go," she said shakily. "Th-There are more farewells I must give… Please be careful, brother."

He was clearly perplexed at her behavior. "Is everything—"

"Goodbye, Éomer," she whispered, and squeezed his hand before releasing him and turning away.

Below her, the Harrowdale stretched out like a vast anthill, positively crawling with men gearing up their horses and gathering their things. Gúthwyn sighed, the noise lost in the bustle of preparation.

"Your face holds no hope, though the battle has not yet begun."

Cobryn's voice echoed in her ears, and she looked over to see her friend stepping up beside her.

"What hope can there be?" she asked dully, having neither the heart nor the ability to tell him why she was so upset.

"Your people are strong," Cobryn replied, glancing at her keenly, "and the Valar may be watching over them."

"They have abandoned us!" she cried with unexpected vehemence, startling them both. "They have abandoned me! All that I hope for comes to naught!" Bitterness seeped into her words, filling all of the cracks in her voice.

Cobryn's gaze had not changed, though his lips had parted slightly. "Has something happened?" he questioned, searching her eyes for answers that she might not give with her mouth. "Or is it because your brother rides out to battle, and you doubt that you will see him again?"

She shook her head, abruptly changing the subject. "Are you going to fight?" she wanted to know. He did not have any armor or weapons on him, so it was a foolish inquiry, though she did not think she would be able to keep her emotions checked should his interrogation probe any further.

Cobryn knew as well as she did that she was trying to distract him, but he answered anyway. "I will not, for I have not been practicing with a sword nearly as often as the boys they now send, and if I fell from my horse I would be useless."

"What of Lebryn?" she asked.

"Aye, he will go with them," Cobryn said, a worried expression in his eyes. "I can only pray that he does not get himself into trouble before the battle actually commences."

Gúthwyn nodded absently, her heart filled with silent agony as she reflected that this was the last time she would speak to her friend. In a few moments, she would have to find Lebryn and Tun to bid farewell; then, she would wait until the men were just about to leave, and sneak her way into the armory. From there, she would take what she needed, somehow manage to free Heorot without attracting attention, and join the mustering Rohirrim as just another soldier.

"Gúthwyn, what is it?" Cobryn's voice pulled her from her thoughts.

"What is what?" she asked, folding her arms across her stomach and looking at him.

"Something is troubling you," he replied, studying her closely. "I am not foolish. You were fine last night. Yet to me it seems that it is not the battle that you are worried about."

"Cobryn," she said suddenly. "If I had children, would you protect them?"

She watched as her friend, rarely taken aback by anything, let his jaw drop so far that she was surprised that it did not scrape the ground. His eyes widened. "Are you trying to tell me something?" he finally managed, seeming too flabbergasted to say more.

"Would you?" she pressed, ignoring his shocked expression. Hammel and Haiweth's figures, bent with toil from hard labor in Mordor, flashed through her mind.

"What—"

"Would you?"

"Yes," Cobryn answered quietly. He put a hand on her shoulder, leaning closer so that their faces were but five inches from each other. "Why are you asking me this?"

Gúthwyn pulled away. "It is nothing," she said, and made to leave him. But his hand reached out and took hers, forcing her to turn back around.

"Are you with child?" he inquired, his voice so low that she could scarcely hear it. She thought she saw a dark look flicker over his eyes for the briefest second, and remembered painfully that he had lost his own son or daughter.

"Cobryn, it is nothing," she insisted, yanking her hand from his with more force than was necessary. "I am sorry; forget I said anything. My mood is not right at this time of month."

She thought the instant she slipped that detail into the conversation, he would drop the subject, just as any man would have done. And to some extent, it worked: He certainly did not question her further, though his expression became rather unreadable. Instantly, she felt guilty for having stirred up terrible recollections from his past, and lowered her eyes. "I am sorry," she whispered, and when he did not say anything, she left him. Tears threatened to roll down her cheeks as she went, but she refused to let them.

There was not much time remaining until the Riders departed. Already some of them were beginning to saddle their horses. Lifting up the hem of her dress so that she might quicken her pace, Gúthwyn searched for Lebryn or Tun, and at length found the two of them standing together outside of the armory.

"Well, if it is not the lady herself, come to bid us lowly soldiers farewell," Lebryn said, even in the face of likely death his usual sarcastic self. He had donned a simple set of armor, consisting mainly of chain mail and an unadorned breastplate. His helmet was tucked in the crook of his arm, so that his long dark hair sprawled unrestrainedly over his muscular shoulders.

"I was starting to fear that I would not see you before we left," Tun spoke, a relieved smile coming over his face. Then he caught sight of her expression. "Are you all right?"

"It is nothing," Gúthwyn said for the third time that morning. "I did not get a lot of sleep."

Tun winced sympathetically. "Neither did I," he replied.

"Slept like a log," Lebryn declared.

For a moment, the two Rohirrim looked at him; then they shook their heads in amusement.

"Well, Lebryn," Gúthwyn said, "I wish you the best of luck." A hard lump formed in her throat as she imagined him riding off to battle, his dark eyes glittering with excitement. And then her mind leaped ahead of herself, and she wondered whether he would marry and have children…

No! she exclaimed silently. They have not even ridden off to battle yet! Do not do this to yourself!

Oblivious to her tormented thoughts, Lebryn nodded, and Gúthwyn turned her attentions to Tun. Tears very nearly welled up in her eyes at the sight of her champion: She had only been his lady for a little over a week, and now he would have to find a new one. Her heart twisted as she remembered him pledging his service to her. It was the only thing that had kept her in Meduseld, the only thing that had made her willing to accept Théoden's apologies and resume her place in the royal family.

"Tun," she said, drawing closer to him, "thank you so much."

"What for, my lady?" he asked, looking puzzled.

"For all that you have done," she whispered, and before he could say anything she hugged him fiercely. His strong arm wrapped around her as she said, "Be careful!"

"Do not fear," he murmured. "I will be fine."

Nodding, she let go of him, but then just as quickly gave him a light kiss on the cheek—as was the custom, she believed, for ladies to do with their champions. Tun looked both surprised and gratified when she did this.

"Thank you, my lady," he said as he bowed, a sparkle in his eyes amidst the worry. "It has been an honor."

Gúthwyn smiled sadly. "Farewell to you both," she told him and Lebryn, who was smirking unrestrainedly. They inclined their heads, but at that moment a horn sounded. Rohan was riding forth, preparing to go to war for Gondor, its ally of old. All of the men in the Firienfeld were bringing their horses towards the Stair of the Hold, about to join the rest of the soldiers in the Harrowdale. Tun and Lebryn waved at her, and then left to follow the other warriors.

Roughly wiping her eyes, she watched them go. These goodbyes were costing her more than she wanted to admit; especially when her friends and family had no idea that they would never see her again, regardless of the battle's outcome.

Enough, she told herself sternly. You have a plan, and a little less than a few minutes to complete the first step.

Right now, she needed to get into the armory tent—which would not be too difficult, considering she was standing in front of it—and find some of the smaller gear to protect her body. Casting a quick glance about her, she was relieved to see that no one was looking at her. Before she could second-guess that thought, she ducked inside the tent. Now, more than ever, disguise was of the utmost importance: There were about five days ahead of her until the battle, in which she would be traveling with the men.

First things first. She removed her dress quickly, stuffing it into her pack. Over the tunic and leggings that she had worn beneath it, she slipped a knee-length shirt of chain mail. It had the tiniest of holes on the arm, and was a little too big for her, but there were no better choices. Then she found a pair of greaves to cover her shins. At Helm's Deep she had not donned these, but the upcoming battle would be fought solely on horseback, and her legs would be prime targets to Sauron's forces. Her boots would provide the remaining protection.

Gúthwyn was reaching for a helmet when a sudden breeze alerted her to the tent flap being opened. In a panic, she whirled around, but there was nowhere to hide. Before she could even put her helmet on, Éowyn slipped inside. Her sword was in her hands.

The two sisters stared at each other. Éowyn's eyes were wide, her face drained of color. She drew in a shaky breath. "What are you doing here?" she demanded at last, her eyes narrowed.

Gúthwyn could think of nothing to say to that, except: "What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you," Éowyn replied after a brief pause.

"In the armory?" Gúthwyn retorted, glancing pointedly at the blade her sister was holding. Éowyn flushed.

"It is a good thing I did!" she exclaimed, gesturing at the armor that Gúthwyn now wore. "What are you thinking?"

"The same thing you are, I would wager," Gúthwyn said, folding her arms over her stomach and standing her ground.

Just then, another horn sounded. She was—they were—wasting time. "Here," Gúthwyn began abruptly, reaching into the pile and withdrawing a shirt of chain mail. Before Éowyn could say anything, she threw it at her, and watched with a small grin as she caught it perfectly.

Her sister smiled, though Gúthwyn thought there was a certain sadness in her gaze. "Are you sure of this?" she asked, removing her dress. Below it was a shorter woolen one.

Gúthwyn nodded. "If duties are to be ignored, let us do it together. Maybe in the future, songs will be sung of the day when the entire royal family of Rohan rode to battle, even the women."

"Alas, I do not think that in the future many songs shall be sung," Éowyn replied, withdrawing a long strip of fabric from a pouch she wore at her waist. Gúthwyn winced as she wrapped it tightly around her chest, effectively flattening it.

"That looks painful," she commented, putting her helmet on. Immediately her vision grew narrower. She herself had not bound her breasts, as her small curves were undetectable beneath her armor.

Éowyn did not even grimace. "If this is the only discomfort that my body endures, then I shall count myself lucky." She yanked the hauberk over her head, and reached for a leather cuirass. Gúthwyn found one of her own, and imitated the way her sister strapped it about her torso. She had never used one of them before, but to her surprise it was not as restricting as she had imagined.

Soon, the two of them were indistinguishable from common soldiers. Gúthwyn could barely tell Éowyn from a man, even though she had watched the transformation.

"Are you ready?" Éowyn inquired, what little of her face that was visible now pale, but set.

Gúthwyn's response was to strap Framwine onto her belt.